Absolution
by Sweetest Nightmare
Summary: JillWesker oneshot. R & R be nice no flames. Mature content.


_Disclaimer: I don't own CapCom, Resident Evil or any of its characters._

She always knew Wesker was a bastard.

Not a bastard literally. But he was. He acted like one. So far he hadn't confirmed or denied her thoughts.

Watching him sit there so calmly, one leg crossed over his knee, gloved hands casually interlinked in his lap, staring into space from under his glasses.

He hated his guts.

She'd told him so often.

And he just grinned back at her with those dead white teeth of his, tilted one head to the side, and replied that she loved him more than she hated him.

And of all times to be horny, it had to be _now_?

He lifted his head up and turned slightly to look at her, as if he could tell she was feeling what she was.

Jill Valentine was a piece of work.

Tough. Tricky. Sexy in her own way. Perfectly capable of blasting a hole in his face. But still, predictable.

She was squirming in her chair.

Straining uselessly against the slick throbbing of her sex. Her clit, aching for attention. Heat, tingling, waves of heat, were working their way through her bloodstream. She couldn't take much more of this. She didn't know if she would.

It was bitterly ironic.

She'd been refusing his advances for the past hour, and she was slowly but surely giving in to temptation.

And she could feel his eyes on her.

Watching her. Waiting for his chance, like a predator toying with its prey. Waiting for the moment when he could drive in for the kill.

She could practically smell it on him.

He smelled good. A heady mix of cologne and a hint of smoke. And it was driving her crazy.

She closed her eyes and tried in vain to empty her mind.

It was pointless. Every time she closed her eyes, countless scenes of their past affairs flickered before her eyes.

Wesker, kneeling above her, driving himself in and out mercilessly, bathed in sweat.

Looking up and seeing him, head thrown back in sheer lust as she sucked him off.

Looking down and seeing him grinning that lustful grin from between her legs, tongue licking almost ferociously.

It was enough to summon an intense blush to her cheeks.

And the fact that he was watching her recount every time they'd engaged, either in fights, or in lust, didn't help.

"So, Valentine."

He says it spontaneously. Like he wants her to jump. Or shudder. Or even twitch.

She doesn't.

She just opens her eyes and looks at him.

His glasses are off.

Red and gold eyes.

God, how many times she's watched those eyes.

"Wesker."

She's surprised at how calm her own voice sounds.

"Why is it you still try to help yourself? Even when you know I'm going to fuck you. And that you're going to want more of it. You're going to want every second of it."

Her hands clench into fists, her knuckles turning white from the effort.

"Do I?"

His grin widens.

"Oh, I think you do."

She bites her lip and averts her eyes, staring plainly at the floor.

"You really want it, don't you?"

"No."

They both know she doesn't mean it.

"Give me one good reason why you don't want this."

She abruptly sits up and turns to look at him.

"I'll give you three. One; you're a traitor. Two; you killed my friends. Three; you're going to leave again."

His grin fades.

"Traitor, definitely. I didn't realise you were close to those idiots you call friends."

All traces of that Chesire cat grin leave his mouth.

"And I'm not so sure that I'm leaving this time around."

That's all the proof she needs.

Her lips are pressed up against his before she realises it, her arm wound around his neck, the other unfastening his tie.

She purrs, low in the back of her throat, when he lowers his lips to her collarbone and begins to suck. Slowly, deliberately, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of her throat.

A whimper.

God, he loved the sound of her voice. Every moan, grunt or cry of ecstasy.

The knowledge that she liked his attentions.

Liked them a lot.

She succeeded in removing his tie and went to work on his shirt.

He stopped his markings on her neck and pushed her backwards, till she backed up against a wall.

He all but tore her shirt off, dropping the top button to the floor and clattering away.

Both of them backed off to rid themselves of their clothes.

He paused when she stepped out of her pants, devouring her with his eyes. Jill Valentine, one of the toughest women he's met, is standing in only her boots and underwear in front of him. There's something you don't see every day.

Stepping closer, he slid the straps of her bra down. Rubbing up and down her spine firmly with his hands, he unfastens the clasp, leans forward and pulls her bra off with his teeth. She strips his belt off and drops it to the floor.

He pushes her back, her bare skin hitting the cold tiles making her gasp and her nipples harden. He drops to his knees, pulling her panties down past her knees, actually lifting her and setting her knees over his shoulders.

He breathes a steady stream of air onto her. Then he lowers his mouth to her swollen clit and immediately sets to work.

Jill moans as his tongue laps over her wetness. His administrations are making her more slick, and she wants him to continue damn near painfully.

She can barely contain her groans when he pushes two fingers inside of her. She can feel herself coming. But she doesn't want to. Not just yet.

"Stop."

He halts immediately, but his hot breath and fingers still inside her make her change her mind.

"Mmmm…don't stop…"

He continues with renewed vigour, massaging and pushing inside her, and sucking on her clit, like he's tasting his favourite sweet, and it's the last one in the packet. Like he wants to savour it.

It isn't long before the familiar rush of pleasure, and she's gushing cum all over his fingers.

He lifts her up easily and pins her against the wall, his pants gone and he's making himself comfortable in between her legs.

He thrusts in easily, lifting up underneath her ass to get a deeper entry.

"Jill…"

Her eyes snap open. It's her turn to smirk.

"Oh, I love you too, Wesker."

He responds by nailing her to the wall with the force of his thrusts.

"Harder…"

She lock her legs around his hips and arches her back as she grinds against him.

They're both losing it.

Jill comes first.

Her already tight walls clamp over him and she screams. Her head is thrown back, and he turns them around so that his back is now against the wall.

He shifts his grip on her hips so that she dips and rises over him easily, and he bucks upwards again and again, into her clenching hole.

She quickly tucks her knees underneath her so that she rides him, faster and harder, with him ramming upwards as hard as he can, impaling her again and again.

"Wesker…"

"Yeah?"

"Uhh…come inside me…"

"No…"

They both know he doesn't mean it.

"Come inside me…"

"Why?"

"I want to feel you…"

For once, he obliges.

She keeps riding him, watching his face, matted with sweat, feeling his nails dig into her hips.

She watches his muscles tense, and lock as he groans deeply and releases his seed deep inside her.

The feeling tips her over the edge, and she comes again, harder than before. Whimpering softly, she leans forward and then collapses on top of him.

Their breathing slows.

Seconds tick by.

Gently, he rolls her on to her side.

He pulls out, and helps her sit upright.

Neither of them say a word as they dress themselves.

He pulls a loaded revolver out of his jacket pocket and hands it to her.

Soon enough, a horde of mutated corpses come staggering around the corner. Both of them end up back to back, firing at whatever comes within close range.

Job finished, they leave.

Together.

Minutes blur past as they walk down the empty street, back to his apartment.

Side by side.

Not even talking.

Just finding solace in each other's company.

Jill finds some odd comfort in the fact that he's not leaving her this time.

Maybe he's not such a bastard.


End file.
